Scotland Forever

One of the things I like to do in my spare time is write historical fiction. Sooo, here is a sampling of my work, a book titled Scotland Forever. Let me know what you think about the style and how I write, I would greatly appreciate it.

taken from Chapter 5, “From France”  

 

Ian splashed through a puddle of water, shaking his feet afterwards in an attempt to dry them. His father, following behind him managed to avoid the puddle and kept his feet dry. The father and son continued up through the slightly wooded area that sat at the bottom of a slope.

They had been patrolling the northern side of the land for a few hours, and were now headed back south to report at the MacBrae croft. A low fog had laid over the countryside, and rain looked possible. So the two hurried quickly towards the rendezvous.

As they approached the crest of the slope, Barrie stopped abruptly, and motioning to be quiet, dropped to the ground. Ian did likewise, then questioned under his breath, “What is it?”

“Do ye hear people talking?”

Ian listened. “Aye, I do.”

Barrie nodded, “Better to throw caution to the wind.”

They laid flat on their bellies and began crawling up the slope. Seconds later, they had reached the crest. A few bushes were blocking their view, but they pushed these silently aside and looked through. A small valley separated them from the slope a hundred or more yards away from them, upon which two blue clad men stood. The figures were a French officer and soldier, and they stood with their backs to Ian and Barrie looking down the opposite side of the hill. One of the officers had a sword dangling at his side, and he was motioning to the other at something.

After taking in the situation briefly, Barrie whispered into Ian’s ear, “What are they doing here? They are almost directly behind Todd’s house and shouldn’t be anywhere near here!”

Ian just shook his head wonderingly.

Barrie thought for a moment, then whispered again to Ian, “Alright, ye try to work your way closer tae those two on from this point left. I will do the same from this point right. Most likely we’ll have tae kill them, but I would prefer to take them captive; let’s work towards that.”

Ian nodded, and then waited while his father started working his way to the left side of the hill they were on. Then, making sure his bow and quiver were secured to his back, he crept quietly down through the brush and boulders that covered the southern side of the slope.

The hill that the French men occupied was slightly taller than the one the Scottish father and son had, and Ian tried to imagine what the officers were viewing on the other side of the hill as he picked his way carefully through the scenery. Up above, the officers continued doing whatever they had been doing, not thinking to turn around. That is, not until Barrie, still coming down the hill, tripped on a branch and fell facedown into a clump of brush.

The two French men spun around and looked down into the valley behind them, looking for the source of the noise.

Hiding behind a large boulder, Ian watched as the officers searched the valley to his right with their eyes. He didn’t know what his father would do, but as the French officer pulled a formidable looking pistol from his belt, Ian knew he had to do something. With out a sound Ian took his bow from off his shoulders. Then he pulled an arrow from his deerskin quiver, and set it to his bow. The French officer had begun slowly descending the hill with his pistol at the ready. Ian set the arrow to his bow, and made sure he was in a steady position. Then drawing his bow he took a deep breath and held it; the French officer continued warily down the opposite slope. Ian let fly. The arrow flew silently and swiftly through the air, finding its target.

The second soldier, who was still on the crest of the hill, froze as his superior fell to the cold ground. Jumping up with another arrow to his bow, Ian lobbed off a shot at the second man. But the soldier had seen enough, and turned and ran down the southern side of the hill, as the arrow soared over his head and disappeared over the hill along with him. Ian decided to give chase.

He crossed the valley running and worked his way up the hill. As he did so, his ears caught the sound of guns firing over the hill. Cresting the slope, he gazed down over the larger valley below, his bow still held in his left hand.

The French soldier was still running for dear life down the gradual slope, his legs making quick work of the grassy terrain. But Ian’s attention was intent on something farther than the single French soldier. For at the bottom of the slope, about a quarter mile away, were close to one-hundred French soldiers. And these soldiers weren’t fleeing. They were engaged in battle with the British soldiers of Captain Dunstan and the small group of Scots fighting for the MacBraes. But the British and the Scots looked unprepared, surprised even. They were in a disorderly mess, fighting wildly and without any discipline.

“What’s this!” exclaimed Barrie, coming up behind his son and giving him a little fright.

“I donnae ken! It looks terrible!” answered Ian astounded at the situation.

“Ambush.” stated Barrie. “They need all the help they can get.”

Drawing out his sword, Ian cried, “Let’s go help them then!”

“Aye, come on son.”

 

            

           Chapter 6 “Thats It”

         Father and son dashed side by side into the fray, swords in hand. The battle was swirling around a huge boulder centered in the middle of a field. The British regulars and Todd’s fighters struggled against the French soldiers and Scottish traitors. The Scottish traitors had been working themselves up, shouting and carrying on as they pressed forward. Opposite them and their allies, the British soldiers pretty made up the front line, while Todd and his supporters backed them up valiantly. But even their courage and determination couldn’t keep them from losing ground. The enemies advantage of larger numbers was showing its effect on the mêlée. The boulder had become the dividing line of the two sides, and Todd MacBrae wanted to keep it that way, or turn the tide. Fighting his way lustily towards the front line, he advanced towards the boulder in the center of the battle. Almost there, he came up besides Ian, who had just finished knocking down a Frenchman in blue.

   “Ian,” Todd said as he gasped wearily, “come with me up tae the rock.”

   Ian nodded, breathing heavily. Barrie led the way to the boulder. Ian followed behind, shoving enemies aside as best he could. As they charged, Ian thought to himself, och man, your running tae this barren boulder in the midst of a battle, where ye are likely tae get shot or the like. What am I doing? On the sidelines of the battle he had seen Captain Dunstan, carefully directing his troops while making sure to stay out of danger himself. Why couldn’t he do the same? You bairn, he scolded himself. So he set his jaw and pressed doggedly onward. Seconds later, he and Todd climbed the unoccupied mass of rock, and stood tall and defiant on its almost flat summit. Facing his allies and supporters, with Ian at his back, Todd shouted above the din.

   “Forward ye loyal and brave Scots, take the foe and protect your kin. And English, show your worth!” the last sentence was almost a threat, as Todd glanced at Captain Dunstan.

    At his back, Ian did his best to stare down the foe. A mix of blue uniforms touched off with other clothing, and Scottish kilts and bonnets made up the mass of men slightly below him. Upon Todd’s rally shout, both sides had calmed down a little, and took a quick look up at the boulder. Then Ian’s heart stopped for a moment as his eyes fell upon the figure of Rob McRoy pushing through the crowd towards him, an eager look on his face, a blood stained sword in his hand.

    Just then, Todd, who had turned towards the enemy and pointed his sword signifying a charge, was shot in the left shoulder. The force of the musket ball spun him around violently and he toppled off the rocks summit and onto the grass below. The seeming demise of the opposing leader brought a loud roar of victory from the French troops, who surged forward with renewed energy. Ian had no time to look to his fallen leader, as Rob McRoy gained a foothold on the same large boulder Ian occupied, and came slowly up the short slope. Ian couldn’t understand Rob McRoys apparent desire of his downfall.

    “What’s your problem?” Ian shouted down angrily at his rival, holding his sword ready.

   Rob laughed audaciously. “Did ye happen tae know there are only two 18 year old boys fighting these battles? Ye and I. I happen tae think I’m the better man. Shall we see?”

   Ian had no wish to see who the better man was. His friends father was lying below him, dying if not already dead. But it looked like he had little choice.

   Sword upraised, Rob rushed Ian. Their swords clashed together once, then once again. Next Rob raised his sword above his head and brought it down on Ian, who blocked by holding his sword horizontally above his head. While Rob was in that vulnerable position, Ian brought his foot up quickly, and placing it on Rob’s muscular stomach, pushed with all his might. Rob’s sword went flying wildly away as he rolled roughly down the slanted boulder. Wasting no time, Ian turned and jumped off the opposite side, right next to Todd’s prone and unconscious body. Looking quickly around, Ian beckoned to Keith and another loyal Scot who were near by. They approached hastily, and the three transferred Todd’s limp, but living, body off the field as quickly as they could. Not 5 minutes after, they were followed by their friends and allies as the beat a hasty retreat. As the sun sank red in the west, the battlefield lay quiet in the valley.